


Frail

by PaP



Category: Sonic the Hedgehog (IDW Comics), Sonic the Hedgehog (Video Games), Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Asexual Character, End of the World, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Protectiveness, Self-Denial, The end of the world comes with the end of oneself, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, We mostly want what we cannot have, Why lie to ourselves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-01-31 05:20:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21440869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaP/pseuds/PaP
Summary: Because I love you.
Relationships: Amy Rose/Sonic the Hedgehog, Rouge the Bat/Shadow the Hedgehog
Comments: 16
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

"I'm not gonna fuck you," is the pained undertone, passing through teeth. "It wouldn't be right."

Red eyes search aquamarine gemstones.

"You're not interested. I'm not gonna guilt you into doing something that disgusts you."

"Even though this hurts?"

"Ha! I'd rather be sore than sorry, honey."

"But you're sorry, now."

"Yes, it's hopeless."

"No." Shadow's cheek rests in the palm of Rouge's hand. He is crouched at her side, remembering now to pass her the canteen, because she's just gestured for it. "You aren't that selfish."

She unscrews the cap and takes a conservative sip.

"I'm sorry."

She takes the time to swill some of the water about in her mouth before turning to spit a darkened projectile. Then wipes her mouth on the back of her dirtied glove, smearing red. "Bah, don't be."

"Rouge, this is my fault."

"Shit. That's not true. Honestly, it's not your fault that you're beautiful and clever and strong and intoxicating overall. Like a fucking walking wet dream."

He smirks distantly, hollowly. "I'm so glad you're still here."

"You know it'll take more than that to snuff out this old bitch."

"I'm counting on it."

Another mouthful washes away the taste of iron, so she spits again and passes the canteen, watching the globular projectile sink shallowly into the pores of the concrete, darkly glistening.

"But after all you've done for me, I–"

"No."

"It's the least I could–"

"Shadow, no! I don't want a pity fuck! God dammit, leave this alone."

"You could have died."

"And I didn't."

"It seems like you might reconsider."

"I don't believe in fate or divinity, but I suppose this would usually be the right time for me to be getting laid. After all we've been through, together."

He has some water, too, lukewarm and flavourless.

"I mean, in a flash, I got to regret my life choices." The free hand sweeps melodramatically before her face, as if spreading out some phantasmal canvas over her eyes, piercing through. "Now, I've got a future."

"With me."

"And that's what I want."

"But you want more."

"I can't have more."

"It's hurting you."

"That's just too bad."

"You have my consent. I'll give you my body, as I've given you everything else."

"I wish you'd stop offering to whore yourself to me. You're the fucking Ultimate Lifeform. What's my longsuffering to you?"

"We're best friends."

"Oh, honey. That's sweet, but… it's not so bad. C'mon. It's been a decade or so I've spent, pining over you. I can keep going."

"Or we could change the course of things."

"And if I were a lesser woman, I'd say yes. In a heartbeat. In many erratic heartbeats, over and over again, I'd say yes to banging you, handsome."

His angular frown relaxes vaguely as she draws circles with her thumb.

"But I guess, when it comes to you, I'm too noble. Fancy that! Even my libido can't quite push me to it. That precipice. It leads to a forbidden place and the fall is a long way down from here."

"I love you."

"I can love you without it."

"This must seem extreme. But I was… afraid."

"You're my best friend. Of course you were."

He flinches beneath her caress.

"Thank you for caring so much. Not many people do."

* * *

In a rare reversal of saviour and sinner, Amy Rose carries Sonic on her back, trudging through the desolate battlefield that used to be the lifeblood of the town.

Corpses of machines and men are sprawled about, like clots or cells.

He is in a place that sits between wakefulness and sleep. Every step, boots sinking in muddied ash, is the echo within a surreal dream. The downpour is cold yet faraway. He knows her smell and he feels her lithe strength moving against him, beneath him, waning in and out.

She stumbles sometimes but his tenuous life keeps her going, trying to keep her eyes ahead, her mind focused on seeking help, so as not to find his delirious moaning or rattling breaths too disturbing, distracting. She'd go faster, but her body has been broken in places and it really hurts.

He stares at the sideways world, his cheek resting on her quills, and he is trying to say something but the words are too hard. His arms are loosely draped over her shoulders and his thighs are in her hands. He must seem like a child carried by another wretched child, like they're just innocent victims in some great adult crossfire.

The madman wants to turn their world into metal. Indeed, this makes no sense to the animals, who have a naïve trust in technology as something that is safely useful. He saw more. He has shown them much.

"Chaos, not right now."

Robots trundle through the rubble, forcing Amy to limp aside as hastily as she can without crying out, pressing herself against a shell of a wall.

Sonic is moaning, but he quietens when she turns her head to briefly nuzzle against him.

"Go away," she whispers.

Eggman's soldiers emit the most terrible of vibrations as they move on revolving treads, churning and crushing bone and brick.

* * *

Shadow doesn't want to leave Rouge alone, but he respectfully keeps his distance at the window, peering out on their ruined horizon, their future together.

"I hope Omega is okay," the bat eventually says, for the sake of saying anything at all.

"Me, too," answers the hedgehog.

The apartment is too oppressive in silence.

She is seated on a chair, staring at her dented boots, tasting blood again. She can smell the sourness of sweat. "I'm fucking sick."

He sighs.

"You brought it up because you knew. You know."

"I don't blame you."

"This isn't the right time." She rubs at her thighs, as if in the stinging rain. "It's a… A coping mechanism, that's what it is. I'm horny because I'm trying to cope, not because I'm a bad person, and you…"

"I'm here for you."

"You're the better person."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Oh, god, Shadow."

He turns sharply back when he hears her choke.

"We've lost."

"Hush."

"We're alive." She allows him to hurry over and seize her, holding her at arm's length whilst she croaks huskily, "We're lost."

His face contorts.

* * *

"Amy."

She's busy rummaging about, desperately searching for something that might heal.

Laid to rest close by, Sonic knows that she can be a little deaf when focused, but he suspects that his voice has gone.

"Don't worry, sweetie." Her eyes are wide and wild, hands a blur. "I'm your hero. You're safe because you're with me, because we're here."

He smiles at her and tries to speak about hope.


	2. Chapter 2

“Sweetheart.”

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

For whatever reason, Rouge hesitates before answering, “What does that mean?” without much expression. Then, more quietly, “What does that mean?” with a brief chuckle at the end.

“I know things can be hard, sometimes.” Amy is unconvinced. “And I want you to know that we’re here for you, for anything.”

“Oh, I know that.”

“Do you?”

Edged with husky impatience, “Just speak your mind,” is uttered beneath the din of friends, over the rim of a cup, between pearly fangs and a crooked veneer of a smile. “Being indirect like this doesn’t wholly suit you, bruiser.”

The hedgehog draws a little closer.

The bat refrains from shrinking away.

With sympathetic caution, “I think you’re crying,” is discretely murmured into a waiting ear.

As if struck, Rouge turns sharply, glaring.

“Sorry,” Amy says gently, carefully, recovering from her wince in the cold of that glare quickly enough, because she is unafraid, but not uncaring. “I came here to check up on you, because you’re crying.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“But we’re in public.”

“Hence why I’m here.” The hedgehog affectionately, discretely, runs her thumb over the bat’s cheek. “Checking on you.”

Rouge blinks and the blur through which she sees her world, Amy included, only gets worse. It can’t be denied, anymore.

“I know you’re prideful, so… I mean, I get why you wanna pretend it’s not happening.”

The bat’s throat is tight, making it hard to swallow the timid sip she takes whilst the hedgehog goes through her loving speech, smile so crooked it may as well be gone.

“Still, sweetie, you needn’t deny yourself this. You have feelings, too. Vulnerabilities, insecurities, unmet needs.” Amy knows all about those, but doesn’t let it show too much. “You’re a woman, even with all those things you try to keep to yourself, deep inside. You can hold onto them, but you could share them, instead. It’s up to you.”

Suddenly, Rouge is being embraced in an outwardly casual way, so as not to draw attention to them, whilst the hedgehog continues to croon in that attentive ear, nuzzling that dampened cheek, disturbing and charming the bat all at once.

“You don’t have to be perfect.”

Then something else.

“You’re not made of stone.”

“A-Amy.”

“Don’t be ashamed.”

“What’re you…? Fuck.”

“Yes. I feel like that too, sometimes.”

“No. N-no way. Not you.”

“Even me. I’m a woman, too.”

And Rouge collapses just then, feeling finally understood whilst knowing in that cynical way that Amy has barely any idea of what this thing truly amounts to. Its ugliness. It’s hunger, incarnate.

Ignorant but steadfast, the hedgehog came out of worry and now freely offers unconditional love and support.

The bat wants to die because she hopes it will last, expecting that it won’t.

“You’re not bad.”

Her aquamarine eyes squeeze shut and her cup threatens to spill as her free hand, large and grasping, clumsily grazes the slope of the slender back, glassy nails sinking into the fabric of a new dress.

“Even if you think you are. I know you’re not. You’re not so bad, to me.”

She manages a grunt of an apology.

“Don’t be sorry.”

She screams silently for nobody else to notice, whilst feeling his eyes, too, on her, ravishing.

“I’ve got you, sweetie.” But Amy won’t let go. She hums momentarily, then says softly, “We all do,” without intending to be cruel, and resumes her tuneless, motherly hum that seems so perfect, it must be instinct.

Rouge bites her tongue again.

“You just forget that, sometimes.”

The bat hopes he can forgive her one last time, clinging to another hedgehog for this comfort whilst dreading it.

“You’re very precious to us.” Amy hums some more before continuing. “And sometimes you’ll be reminded of that, by someone who loves you. You need to be strong in those times where someone doesn’t. But even in those times, you’re not alone.”

Rouge nuzzles Amy’s shoulder, meaning to push back, to push away, to resist, but communicating an invitation for those powerful arms, lithely muscular, to tighten their embrace in earnest, instead.

“You’ve got friends.”

The bat grits her teeth.

“We come one at a time or we come all at once, but we’re never far away.” In-between hums, the hedgehog’s voice is like a wave lapping gently at the bleached seashells and bones. “Tonight, that friend’s me. I’m not perfect. But I’m yours. Use me.”

Rouge braces herself to listen, knowing she’d fall should Amy retract her mercy, just now.

“I love you.”

The bat can’t resist the emotional upheaval those words naturally provoke, even in such neglect, and bites her tongue to stifle it.

“That’s why I’m reminding you.” Then more humming, almost swallowed by the music. It doesn’t go on long. “You don’t need to face this alone, whatever it is that’s hurting you, inside.” The hedgehog is so much stronger. “We’re your friends and we’ll face it with you, Sweetheart.” Much too strong. “Our love will face anything. It always has, even if the other guys aren’t as mushy and romantic about it, as I am. Our love always will.”

Rouge opens her eyes and she can’t see anything legible in that wet, salty blur of colour and shape. She won’t search for crimson, or green, or anything too familiar.

“You’re a complicated, secretive sort of lady. That’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. You might be scared, right now, maybe too scared to tell me why. But even then, we could be scared, too. We all fear the things we think and feel, from time to time. We often scare ourselves.”

She is easily turned about in Amy’s arms, propped upright for a kiss to the tearstained cheek before hands quickly move to wipe away the evidence, smoothing pale fur and erasing smeared trails of makeup from tanned skin.

“But just because we’re scared, doesn’t mean we’ll leave.”

The bat tries to compose herself as the hedgehog helps, being left with little choice but to be sober again, because even love only allows for so much.

“We’ll stay. Together. We’ll win.”

Rouge has always been good at composure. Almost always, she corrects herself with a grunt and a grimace when Amy smiles sweetly at such a pathetic display, the smile so bright, it mostly pierces through, despite efforts to look away.

“But if it’s easier, let’s just keep this between us two for now, or forever, if that’s what you want us to do. We don’t have to say a word about it to anybody else.”

The bat understands the insinuation, a secret to be kept, and merely nods between the hedgehog’s hands, forcing eye contact. Just then, vision becomes too clear.

Amy hums.

Rouge wonders, as a joke that she might try laughing at later, when alone in her room with a stranger or herself for company, if they could stay like this, if they should, if they even would. Who would break first, in some alternative universe.

“Can you stand?”

The bat sighs. “Yes.”

“That’s my girl. Strong.”

A vague gesture at an available seat close by, pushed aside to make space. “But I’ll sit.”

The hedgehog grins. “Strong, anyway.”

Rouge sighs again.

“I’m not trying to dismiss myself.”

“I know.”

“Don’t take it like that.”

“I won’t.”

“I’ll stay here as long as you want me to.”

“No need.”

“But what do you want, sweetie?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Okay.” Amy lets go, but stays close. “I really do want to help.”

“You can go, now.”

“Sweetie, I’m–”

“Of course. But you can’t do much. So, it’s still broken, but it’s easier this way.”

“Is it? Because I feel like this isn’t any easier. I feel like you’re just trying not to inconvenience me, or trying not to be judged by me.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“If it’s not something I can fix right away, then maybe over time, we could–”

“I’m fine. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I had a moment. Even I get those. I’m a woman and I’m not perfect.”

“I told you, sweetie. Don’t be sorry.”

“Mmhm.”

“Do you… want to be left alone, right now?”

“Yes. No.”

The hedgehog’s expression grows heavy, more than reluctant. It’s guilty.

“It’s not your fault. Not at all. You’re wonderful, even to someone fucked up like me.” The bat shrugs her limp shoulders, trying to square them. “I’ve been alone most of my life, hon. I know loneliness better than language. I speak it well.”

“That absolutely awful, Rouge.”

“I know, Amy. No offence. Please.” Rouge gives Amy a polite nod before murmuring, “Just go away,” faintly between them, “and forget about me for a bit, okay?”

“But–”

“It’s a party. Have fun. Be the life of it.”

The hedgehog is clearly unhappy as she watches the bat turn away. “I’ll check on you again soon.”

Rouge sighs once more.

“Soon,” Amy repeats to the retreating bat. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“If you want to go home–”

“I’ll still be here when you come back.”

The hedgehog manages another smile.

After a few paces past a few friends, Rouge stops suddenly, turning back and giving Amy a heartbroken yet grateful look from over her shoulder. That cheek isn’t entirely dry, just yet, and only some of the bleeding makeup was successfully wiped away.

The hedgehog’s gloves are ruined, but she is mindful enough not to wipe them on her dress, even as she balls her fingers into fists.

The bat turns ahead again. Takes a step. Sinks. Blinks. Finds herself in the chair, downcast gaze on her glossy boots. Blinks again, then looks up, meeting crimson eyes with defeat.

Shadow knows Rouge is cursing and savouring his existence when she smirks hollowly at his angular concern, an honest facsimile of one of her treacherous expressions, like she’s daring him to approach while asking that he stay away.


	3. Chapter 3

“Mmm.”

Shadow inclines his head a little to one side, a curious gesture, unknowingly cute, even if he’s still frightened.

“I feel better, now.”

He smiles faintly at that. He smiles tiredly at that. Sweat and blood and mussed quills can’t dull the sincere gratitude.

“Thanks, hon,” Rouge murmurs, gazing up at him through her lashes.

“You’re welcome,” he utters back, protectively gruff.

She likes it. She’d flirt if it didn’t hurt so much, if she wasn’t so relieved to feel this pain.

He strokes her behind the ears, trying not to be clumsy, fingers filled with the bodily voltage, adrenaline.

With a sigh, her eyes flutter a little, then gently shut. With a rattling groan she muscularly dissolves over his chest.

“Rouge?”

“It’s okay.”

He’s still shaking.

“I’m okay.”

He bites his lip again, smile twisted with anxious anguish.

“Relax.” But she’s still breathing. “I’m not…” She pauses for another groan, then grows quiet for a while. Then grumbles, “Going anywhere,” with drowsy humour.

“Please.”

“Just resting. You’re so… comfy.”

This comforts him, too, listening in his crumpled place on the mattress with her broken body splayed over his, their heads tucked together in the place where the drawn curtain doesn’t have a tear in it, as her breath whistles in her bloodied nose.

“Cold?” she drawls, dozing off a bit.

“No.” The word is barely audible, even to her.

“C’mere.”

He bites his lip harder and helps her drag her hand over his ribs, his breast, his jaw, capturing his cheek, where she meagrely offers her bodily heat through her naked palm.

“Don’t be cold.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t be scared.”

His tilted head is heavy in her hand.

She takes in an uneven breath more deeply, her usually lucid touch growing somehow abstract.

He’s briefly transported to a memory of many, the wind whistling through the sparse branches outside their window back home, leaves having fallen, remembering when they still had a home, when it was a better winter.

“You’re still…”

He can see her teeth intact and clean, plump lips parting for words only for her not to say anything in the dim, the way her unchipped fingernails caught the light, too, as she drew close enough to stroke him after another nightmare.

“Shivering, honey.”

“I’m fine.” His torn smile deepens. “I’m not cold, with you.”

“But I… scared you.”

Head still inclined, hot gaze remorseful and ravishing, he brings his nose closer, pressing it to her silky brow, as if to erase her frown of pain with loving pressure. He breathes, too, inhaling her, and she moans.

“Fuck.”

He keeps her here, until she’s asleep, suddenly.

Still breathing. It makes its noise.

Otherwise, he’d have heard her silence and compensated for his own.

Her injured breaths fill space that would otherwise be torture all alone.

He eases away, only enough to gaze upon her, hungry. But his eyes perceive less than the rest of his body, shrouded as it is with hers.

She is weak. Fragile. Loosely jointed and slack in his arms. She used to be strong. Sturdy. Her shapeliness wasn’t alluring to him. It was comforting, reassuring, known and unknown, exciting, interesting. She was so intact and she moved with silky, easy-going purpose, sometimes, then violently, at other times, but often, she barely moved, biding her time, watchfully thinking. But at least she’s warm and she still smells a little like her favourite perfume and she’s breathing.

He kisses her again, having not acknowledged the previous kiss, then lifts his head further with a snap of his teeth, then jerks aside, closing his eyes tightly, feeling nauseous. He opens his eyes again. He regards the bucket on the floor, a prop on the ruined carpet.

The bloody cloth within is bleeding afresh, soaked in the dregs of aired alcohol, little shards of glass.

It was worse, before. It was hell, before. His hands had trembled so badly, he dropped the bottle meant to sanitise her wounds and he sifted through the mess to save some of it. He’s not used to incompetence. He’s never had to tolerate it in himself, before. He hates himself more, now.

Her whistling breaths keep tugging him between the sordidly optimistic reality, the siren’s lull of grateful memory, and the grim imaginings of what almost happened, but he doesn’t deserve such reprieve, offered in her suffering.

He gags. He’s been faced with her mortality before and faced it calmly, because he is the Ultimate Lifeform, she is a trained professional, Omega was there to keep up morale and Eggman hadn’t defeated Sonic’s Resistance, so it was much more like an adventure with unanticipated friends.

The fate of most of them is unknown.

It was kind of fun, while it lasted. But the world is ending and all things considered, everything’s changed too much. Eggman won. It was impossible. Even he was surprised.

The hedgehog’s stomach roils, like it’s filled with cold, biting rocks.

The bat’s nicked ear twitches and the immortal, bedraggled hero is so grateful for another sign.

Shadow still trembles a bit, as much as he tries not to, knowing that this time, for all of Rouge’s cleverness and skill, she barely made it. Because she is mortal. She’s a woman. She can die, she can be killed. Even Omega, in a sense. Only Shadow is the exception.

But she’s alive. Some things are excusable, like cradling a comrade who is more precious than she knows, instead of letting her sleep in the bed they made dirty, together. But her death would not be excused.

The hedgehog would not forgive himself for that. Never forgave himself, not even for Maria’s sake.

But the bat is still alive and she’s breathing and it sounds beautifully terrible, this whistling through clotted passageways and fractured bones.

Shadow can feel the sting return to his eyes. He could barely prevent losing Rouge, barely stopped her dying, even though he’s supposed to be powerful.

It was hell. It was Maria, all over again, except different, somehow worse. That sweet little girl died.

This bittersweet woman lived. It’s not fair, but the bat is alive – Rouge is alive – and the hedgehog, Shadow, still has her. She’s breathing, asleep, in his arms, loving him in her own abrasive, private way.

He glares at the bucket and feels the sting of bile rise up in his throat, also. He could’ve lost this. He’s already lost so much else. And there’s still the prospect of eternity.

She made a joke at some point in their relationship, some years ago, but by then it had been too long and they had become too familiar for either of them to be wholly comfortable. She joked that the day she actually survives something, the day she really accepts how normal she is and how uncertain she is, inside, the day a narrow scrape costs her a pound of flesh, will probably be the day she’ll begin to live that adult life that the adults forewarned her of when she was small. She’ll live to take life seriously from then on.

From now on, he supposes, stroking her between the ears.

She joked, then, that she’s going to spend the rest of her life processing today quietly in the nostalgic yet forward-thinking darkness of her mind. One of many things she’ll try to keep to herself. She said it like a joke, and laughed. But she meant it. Or she will come to mean it. Tonight. Tomorrow, she’ll live for him. When she wakes up.

“Our future.”

She whistles out another breath, then in.

His lips are bruised with all this chewing. He can keep her warm and close and alive, embracing. It was a delirious, awful span of hours that led them here, in this bed, but he couldn’t say no to her need to be held by someone she loves even if she doesn’t often outright say so, his bizarrely mortal need to hold her, too, he could never deny, because he loves her and for all their differences, he’s glad, because she loves him, too.

She’s alive. She survived, because he saved her, because she saved him so many times over the years, but she tells him it’s stupid for him to still remind her that he’s always been grateful, since she already knows. So she has found her sleep even in the midst of his shivers, and as long as they have this, it’ll be okay.

* * *

“Amy?”

“Sonic?”

His smile is heaven. “Hey.”

“You’re–” She almost throws the chair in her haste to rise. “Alive!”

“Heh. Yup. Had to get back to you.”

Needing to vent her frustration and delight and pain and everything else after so long, she suddenly darts away, roaring as she thrusts her fist into the door of a wardrobe.

“Whoa.”

“God! You’re alive!”

He manages to arch an eyebrow, amused, impressed.

“Fuck! Yes!”

He even giggles.

“I thought…”

His mirth dims.

“I r-really thought…”

“Amy.”

Her muscular shoulders collapse as she steps away, staring into the crater she’s left, staring through it, at all the splinters she left.

“I’m sorry,” he says, rasping, but able.

“O-oh, I…”

“I worried you sick.”

She slowly turns back, defeated in posture yet victorious in her eyes.

“You looked after me.”

“Y-yes.”

“I just… I dunno how to undo…”

“I love you.”

He watches her take a step, then a second, then a third, slowly advancing.

“I love y-you.”

“You always did look after me.”

“And I always… a-always will, Sonic, b-because I…”

“It’s gonna be okay, Amy.”

“I f-fucking… love you so much.”

“Hey, now.” He reaches for her. “Gonna make me blush.”

She falls to her knees upon reaching him, whimpering, and his hand falls softly on her head, just so.

“There-there.”

“S-Sonic, I… I was d-dying… every moment…”

“I know. I’m so sorry.”

“If you… I…”

“Amy. Haven’t ya done enough?”

“I couldn’t…”

“Rest, now.”

“Had to… stay sane. Walking. Watching. Waiting.”

“Lemme take it from here.”

“Sonic!”

“Rest. Yeah. You more than earned it.”

“Sonic…”

“Close your eyes. Breathe.”

She does what he tells her to.

“There ya go.”

She flexes her fingers, unbroken, green eyes swimming behind their lids, flooded with tears, overflowing through her lashes, rivulets below her crooked brows, buckling beneath his caress.

“I’m here, now. Late. But I’m here.”

“Don’t go.”

“I won’t.”

“I couldn’t…”

“You won’t. Oh, Ames. I never wanted to make you cry.”

She sniffles.

“I’m the worst man.”

“R-rubbish. You’re perfect.”

“Nah. You’re just too kind.”

“This is…” She still smells the blood, the oil, the burning. “W-what war f-feels like.”

“I’m so, so sorry.”

“D-don’t be. I’m… a big girl.”

“I roped you into this way too young. I roped in everybody.”

“But… someone had to. Someone had to s-stand up to…”

“It’s really sick, ain’t it?”

“I miss them.”

“Me, too, Amy.”

“Just thinking about… l-losing you…”

“Let that thought go. I’m here, now.”

“It was… I was so, so s-scared…”

“I’m never gonna forgive him for that. Screw Eggman. I won’t forgive myself.”

“I… don’t b-blame you, sweetheart…”

“Amy.”

“Sonic.” She grew up, but she never quite outgrew her passions. “I love you.” They were just better hidden, better mastered, as she taught herself to be more like the other women – graceful and dignified, like Blaze, or confident and evasive, like Rouge, or brave and compassionate, like Tangle, or qualified and meditative, like Whisper, to be whatever woman Sonic needed, failing in many ways, inevitably developing into the adult Amy Rose would naturally become. “If I lost you, I’d lose m-myself, too!” And Sonic is critical to whoever Amy Rose is. “But y-you’re here, you’re alive!”

He knows she wants more than anything to hug him, but she has not forgotten her strength.

“My love…”

He says nothing, now.

“M-my…”

His hand is stilled.

“I’m j-just…” She sniffles, then settles for resting her chin on the edge of his bed, waiting for the caress, the words, to come back. “Oh, Sonic.”

The hammer leans against a wall littered with craters, the head dripping with oil.

“So happy to see you,” she finishes softly, at the end.


	4. Chapter 4

“Am I scaring you?”

“Honey.” Rouge is smirking back at Shadow from across the narrow expanse of the bed, his bed. “That’s fucking absurd.” She fondly strokes his chest, but her normally deft, thieving fingers are fumbling in a virgin way. “Me, scared of you?” She tries to scoff. “Please.”

“You…”

“I’m just fine. Relax.”

“No, this is… I’ve…”

She exhales against his lips.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She’s not trying to act, anymore. She’s defeated, now, by this thing she cannot overlook, not when it comes to this particular man.

“I’ve been selfish.”

“No, no. I’m the selfish one.”

“You are afraid.”

“I hate it.”

“I don’t. It comes from the right place, inside. Good intentions.”

“You’re way too nice to me.”

“I disagree with that assessment, old friend.” His eyes grow soft in that strange, unique way of his, a rare thing, and he brings his forehead gently against hers. “I’m only sorry I do this to you.”

“God.”

“You’re suffering and I can’t help you.”

She trembles again in his hands, her talkative, honest ears nervously pressed back. It’s as if she’s never worn that lewdly cavalier expression in her life, the one she tried so hard to maintain over so many years of falling headfirst into his mystery, contemplating her hapless lack of any real options while he made her heart race and her womanhood pound with the most frightful neglect for herself, defences to the fortress of her pride now falling away as she remains so guarded with him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be so cute.”

“You can’t even kiss me like that. I’m a monster.”

“Now, now, now, none of this bullshit, mister.”

He grunts when she gently shoves his chest, then sighs as she bends, burying her face in the silky tuft.

Silence, for a while.

“If only I weren’t so pretty.”

She giggles, muffled, still trembling.

He carefully embraces her, drawing shapes along her back, muscular.

She regrets coming here, tonight, to his room, a night unlike all the others, the night she goaded herself, hated herself, into trying, only to inevitably fail when he took her teasing in stride and responded in kind, prepared to appease her, so devastatingly beautiful to her, too precious in her heart.

They found themselves at an impasse. They find themselves in it, still. It is here. This is it. Their impasse. This is all it will ever be, for them.

But she hugs him back like it’s alright. “Mmmph.” She can deal with this. It can be enough. It must be.

“Yes,” is his morbidly amused drawl, as if replying to something perfectly articulate and comically sensible, “you’re right.” He reaches, now, for her ears, playing gently with them. “I really shouldn’t be allowed to be this attractive. And charismatic. It’s criminal.” He’s trying to make her feel better, by acting like he isn’t sad for her, how pathetic she can be.

* * *

“I came here to try and forget about you.”

“Oh, um, I guess I just messed that up, then.”

“No, it wasn’t working out, anyway.”

Sonic gives Amy an apologetic clink, his beer bottle against hers.

“Hell, I’m so damn happy to see you. I can’t help it.”

“Won’t make up for anything, but…”

“Wanna dance?”

“Sure. I was just boutta–”

She downs her drink in a few aggressive chugs, then sets the empty bottle down with a thud, drying her lips on her gloved fist.

“Ask,” he finishes more quietly, barely audible over the music. “Amy, are you okay?”

“Sonic, don’t sour my mood.”

“Seems a little sour already. We should talk.”

“We can. Later.”

“Listen, Amy, you already know this, but I’m–”

“I know,” she says, green eyes bewitching if one meets them for too long, her blossoming body drawing much attention as she stumbles prettily throughout her adulthood in this city, almost overcompensating for the unusual colour of her quills, always kept short. “And you already know what I’ll say to that, since you’re bringing it up, again.”

“Am I sounding insincere, at this point?”

“Nah. You’re a good friend, sweetie. I know you mean it. I just hurt because of you.”

“Right.”

“Anyway.”

He’s spent their latter years apologising to her in a variety of different ways, his concern seemingly validated, even when she grasps his hand in hers with an iron grip and pulls him closer with a powerful yank. He peaked years ago.

But she continues to bloom. Her smile, in some ways reluctant, is alive in others and it makes him wish he could love her the same. “Let’s show off, yeah?”

He barely has a chance to put his bottle down when she’s got him in her heat, her scent, without doing anything overtly inappropriate. His mouth is dry. He wants her and he’s scared of it, disgusted by himself.

Her grip was a little too forceful but she let him go when he asked her to, noticing the bend in his brows, and throughout their dance she doesn’t encroach upon his personal space too closely for his comfort, sensing his reluctance in his hips. She is trying, somewhat begrudgingly, to let him go, to be a good friend, too, as she denies herself, her overbearing heart and hormones.

But he’s obviously never going to be fully comfortable, not even when she moves in a way that makes him smile, again. Moving, too. Not even when he laughs, bobbing his head with her, and loses himself in her wink.

Eventually, everybody wants to dance with them.

* * *

Rouge is pretending to sleep.

Shadow isn’t fooled, lightly brushing back the edge of her mouth to bare the pretty white fang she normally keeps hidden.

She growls softly, unbothered.

“Yes, very fierce.” He strokes the sharp, seductively curved weapon with his thumb. “Will you finally rise, if I offer you breakfast?”

Her eyes peel open.

“Ah,” he remarks quietly, giving the fang a light tap. “There she is.”

“Here I am,” she mumbles back, the words a little obfuscated by his hand.

“There you are.”

She feels him withdraw, but not completely, not before allowing her the privilege of kissing his fingers.

He rises, then, and she rises, too, burying her yawn in his shoulder. He waits.

“I want pancakes,” is the first thing she says upon recovery, wiping the residue of sleep from her eyes and onto his firm flesh, then nuzzling him so he won’t be too annoyed.

“Then pancakes you shall have.”

She smiles, lifting her head to gaze at his severe, angular profile, his glare on the window and the world beyond.

He wishes he could give her more. The sunlight pools in his eyes. He wishes he were normal. The light is sucked up by his fur, so very dark despite it, igniting his eyes and his central stripe. He wishes he could give her everything she ever wanted from him, as she gave more of herself, and her life, than he will ever deserve.

* * *

“Sonic?”

“Hey, Ames.”

“What’re you…?”

“I walked you home.”

“Oh. And you… stayed.”

“You’d had a bit too much.”

“You made me breakfast, too.”

“And a mess. Don’t worry, I’ll fix everything up in a minute, just finishing these eggs.”

She stands in the doorway, slender and shapely in her nightgown, her quills bedraggled and some residue of makeup left on her face, though she never relied on it. She’s beautiful and she’s smiling at him.

“Gotta keep an eye on the eggs,” he explains needlessly whilst quickly turning back to the stove, since she is a proficient cook and she was the one who taught him how to fry, scramble, poach, fold an omelette, with plenty of jokes shared between them all throughout those lessons, told at Eggman’s expense. “Don’t wanna overdo ’em. Nice and fluffy and yellow.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

“You’re welcome, peach. Have a seat.”

“Can I at least make you some coffee?”

“That’d be awesome.”

She approaches him from behind, imagines the things she’d do to him, if only he’d consent.

He never will, though. It’s evident in his nervous humming.

She reaches out, hesitates before touching him.

He flinches, then forces himself to relax with her. He’s not sure when things became so difficult. They’d finally grown up enough to get along when something changed in him.

She changed, too. Her body and her interests. Even on the inside. But she’s still, at her core, Amy Rose and he’s still Sonic and she loves him as much as she’s come to lust after him, dreams of marriage turning into more carnal, sordid things that typically come with being an adult. She strokes his shoulder once, then sighs and steps away.

“D’you remember how I like it?” he asks, like he’s actually asking something else, breaking apart the clumps of scrambled eggs with the spatula.

“Of course I do,” she says, sounding uncertain as she flicks on the kettle before moving a little more to yank the fridge open, reaching inside. She stops herself when she has the bottle of milk close enough to graze her fingertips. “Sweetie, why are you still here?”

“What d’you mean?”

“Were you making sure I’d wake up okay? Worried I’d drown in my own puke? That’s probably happened to someone, before. What an awful way to go.”

“I… wanted to be sure you’d be safe, come morning.”

“Oh, sweetie.” She seizes the bottle and sighs again, the air so delightfully cool on her face. “I hoped that was it.” She’s reluctant to close this door and face the heat of the world outside her tidy, clean little fridge, filled mostly with healthier things that she always keeps so organised. “I was so hopeful, always.”

“What else would it be?”

“Heh. You’re a gentleman, Sonic.”

“Sometimes, Amy. Sometimes.”


	5. Chapter 5

The child tries to cry for help, again, offering only a pathetic, broken squeak this time, piercingly desperate and broken by a cough, taking precious shares of his limited, stale air.

Eggman isn’t aware of this survivor. He isn’t bothering to search particularly thoroughly.

Clinging more tightly to the plastic action figure for whatever comfort it can offer in this terrifying pain, the boy squeezes shut his eyes to disguise the overwhelming darkness beyond, because it’s too much to accept that he truly can’t see his mother and his father and his sisters in this hole. He can’t see anything, because it’s dark.

There needn’t be a cruel, tyrannical god.

But the child can feel the familiar shape of the toy pressed against him, quills unyielding, reassuring him that it’s not pointless to be brave and to have hope. In the brief pause of silence in-between the walls of his prison, spent recovering from his cough, he knows that he must keep trying. So he recovers and cries out, again.

The insane, selfish ambition of a powerful man is enough to demand worship and sacrifice, to create a hell for those who relent, or refuse.

The tears are like acid, so hot, when the boy is so cold. He mustn’t give up, but it hurts to try. He holds onto the replica, remembering how Sonic always promised he’d come to those who need him, and another cry echoes, dwindling at the end.

Suddenly, a muffled reply from someone outside.

Relieved and scared, the child gathers his voice, what little of it is left, and instead of a prayer, he cries out, again, again, again, in a tirade of determination to survive something he cannot possibly be expected to understand

The savour’s answer sounds closer this time, again, then again, along with footfalls, following the boy’s cries, urging him to keep calling.

So the child does, louder, louder, and surely Sonic is the one, it’s not merely coincidental that the action figure is in his image. Here. Help. Help me. I’m here. Sonic.

The replies don’t cease, not even when they sound like they’re coming from someplace right above, and concrete dust falls, showering, with a scraping, grinding noise.

Spluttering, the boy struggles to open his eyes and shields himself with a raised arm, peering through muddy tears to behold a stretched sliver of light that has emerged where there was only darkness beyond himself, widening. Sonic!

The chunk of rubble that had sealed him is being pulled or pushed aside like the lid of a sarcophagus being opened, and the stranger’s voice rings more clearly, feminine.

Sonic?

“I’ve got you, sweetie, hold on.”

No, the child realises, watching the miracle, listening to the miracle, not godmade. That voice doesn’t sound at all like Sonic. But the voice isn’t unfamiliar. The boy tries to place it, holding tightly to his toy. Not his mother, not one of his sisters. Who could that woman be? He knows her, knows her voice. He hopes this wasn’t one of those machines, mimicking a person. He’s not sure they can do that.

When the gap is wide enough, allowing for a flood of lukewarm, dusty air and sunlight between ribs of bent rebar, green eyes move into view, framed by tussled pink quills.

The child whimpers, reaching for her, now, remembering her face, like an afterthought, but so glad to be found by this less celebrated heroine.

Amy Rose’s smile, caught between confusion and some abject sense of relief, as if being given another purpose, is like the gates of heaven, open, as she reaches back. “It’s gonna be okay, sweetie.”

Their hands meet.

“Don’t be scared.”

* * *

“Oh, honey, my heart’s about to explode.”

Shadow kisses Rouge’s forehead, then withdraws, balancing the buckled can on her thigh until she takes it, her movements sluggish, today.

“You’re so fucking great.”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“Almost as much as you love beer?”

“Hell, maybe.”

“I’m flattered. I love you, too.”

“You’re wonderful.” She struggles a little, fingers fumbling with the tab, but she’s determined. “I am so gonna enjoy this. Pardon if I get all indecent.”

“That’s alright.” He smirks to hide his relief, knowing she’s too proud to want his help with something so small, and returns to unpacking the rest of the salvaged supplies he gathered on his own, while leaving her here, to rest, never admitting that every time he goes, he’s terrified that she may die before he gets back.

An eventual sound announces her success at opening the can.

“That’s all for you, okay?”

“You sure?”

“You know my tastes.” Hands full of provisions, he turns, again, and gazes fondly back at her from over his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she says, laughing huskily. “You always hated the stuff.”

“Just wait until I find a bottle of red wine. We’ll have quite the party, then.”

“God, you’re so good to me, hon. Getting me all excited. Damn.”

He could scoff at himself, for this warm, oozing feeling she gives him, deep inside, watching her take her first deep, savouring sip, taking so much comfort from the familiarity of beer, even from a buckled, lukewarm can.

* * *

“Where’s Sonic?”

Amy hadn’t come here with the direct intention of rescuing anyone. She hadn’t assumed that, when she came here, alone, with the aim of finding some means of her own destruction, she’d hear a tiny voice quite by chance and follow it, instead, using her tired strength to unearth a breathing being in need of her protection and nurturing. She didn’t foresee this being her reason to go on living, after burying her breathless love earlier this morning.

Eggman’s conquest of the city ended days ago.

This boy had survived that long, all alone, in the dark, and now that she’s pulled him out and given him a second chance, he looks to her and asks her that. And smiles.

She runs her palm gently over this child’s bruised, bandaged head. Thinks about how her lifelong heroics were proclaimed worldwide, up until the world ended and they lost the final war. Finds it amusing, that her fame is now meaningless to anyone but him, but she’s still not his favourite. She can’t blame the boy.

The plastic action figure in the child’s one-armed embrace is scuffed, but some blue remains, bright and true, and those scarred emerald eyes are unmistakable.

She then offers the boy her hand, which he accepts happily. This unfortunate orphan is her life, now, and she cannot tell him the truth, because he’d stop smiling. So for now, she says nothing, guiding him safely in this city of the dead and the missing, trying to keep herself composed. She can’t act like anyone else, anyone ordinary, because she’s a hero and heroes are invincible, just like Sonic was said to be.

That’s what the world always needed, that’s the hope heroes always inspired.

It’s partially her own fault, now, that she must lie to a child.

And this child has lost everyone, too, only to gain her as his guardian.

And she’s not alone, anymore, but she must lie.

The boy will understand, when he’s older, as she raises him. For now, while he’s just a child, he’s patiently awaiting an answer from a hero who made a miracle happen, today, smiling up at her, as if there isn’t desolation all around, simply reassured. Even if his family couldn’t be saved, there’s still hope left for the world, for him in it.

She squeezes that little hand in hers. Her answering smile is a facsimile, too, but one she’s very good at.


End file.
